


Make Something Good Out Of It

by peanutbutterandbananasandwichs



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Blood, Demon Blood Addict Sam Winchester, F/M, Gen, NSFW, vaguely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 03:34:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3713359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peanutbutterandbananasandwichs/pseuds/peanutbutterandbananasandwichs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morning after Sam/Ruby scene in 'I Know What you did Last Summer', how Ruby introduced Sam to the demon blood.</p><p>art by the incredible Ellen (LJ: lennelle / tumblr: boykvngs) made for the 'quicky bang event on LJ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Something Good Out Of It

—- “Because it’s wrong and it’s bad and we shouldn’t?” —-

Sam starts awake, with a sick, lurching feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. It takes him a couple of minutes of bleary eyed confusion to piece together where he is and what had happened. 

Oh God. 

He runs a shaking hand through his sweat dampened hair, combing it out of his eyes, before scrubbing it down his face, his fingertips brush past his lips and Sam finds himself curling them round to bite at his knuckles. 

SHIT. 

There’s the sensation of another body pressed lightly against the small of his back, his stomach lurches again as he swiftly scoots himself right to the edge of the bed, his fingers grip tight the sheet. Sam’s eyes are still cloudy and his head is pounding. The heady mixture of pain pills and booze that had conspired to knock him out cold are coming back in vengeance. His skin feels too hot, too tight, like it’s covered in thousands of inky black finger prints, smeared across his chest and back, streaked through his hair, sulfurous black oil smudging his lips and jaw and neck.

Maybe the pills hadn’t quite worn off after all.

There doesn’t seem to be any movement from the form behind him, thank god, he can’t face that, not just yet. God he needs a shower.

Sam drags himself from the bed, stumbling half blind across the room, trying to keep the walls from spinning. He grabs hold of the sink as he enters the bathroom to steady himself and finds his eyes dragged up to the pale and drawn figure staring back at him in the cracked and mottled mirror. He half expects to see the oily black taint he can still feel creeping over his skin, sinking into his flesh, but there’s nothing but bloodshot eyes and the faint impression of teeth marks outlining newly blossoming bruises tracing his jaw. 

FUCK.

He makes it to the toilet just in time, sinking to his knees and gripping the edge of the seat, with knuckles turning white, as he empties the meagre contents of his stomach. Dry heaving wretches shake his body to the bones and send stabbing, shooting pains searing up his spine and into his still pounding head.

Clambering back to his feet he goes to strip his shirt off before remembering he’s already naked, he still feels too hot, sweat pooling at his collar bones, sliding down skin and bringing the non existent black ink with it. Painting his him in rivulets of sulphur. Sam reaches for the shower tap, turning the water down as cold as it will go, although to be honest he’s not sure, given the dilapidated state of the rest of the house, if the hot water would have worked at any rate. He climbs in.

The water feels good, cleansing and cooling, soothing the ache in his head as he lets it run through his hair and over his body. He leans his back against the wall of the shower and slides down the length until he’s sat pressed against the cold tile. There’s a grotty looking flannel laying abandoned on the shower floor to his left and he grabs it up in his hand, scrubbing it harshly over every inch of flesh he can reach, his skin reddening under the friction of the rough cloth. He can still feel the ink, seeping deeper into him. He scrubs harder.

When he’s done, Sam rest his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. Letting the water wash over him.

He doesn’t know how long he’s sat there before he feels the touch of a small, gentle hand at his shoulder. He starts back, nearly cracking his skull clean open against the tile. 

“Jeez Sam!”

The hands slip under his arms, pulling him back to his feet, before scooting down his slides to steady him at the waist.

It’s then that his brain registers that the hands belong to Ruby and she’s standing, stark naked in front of him in the shower.

He pushes her gingerly away from him, curling his arms protectively across his chest.

“R..ruby…what are you…?”

“Came to check you hadn’t drowned, you’ve been in here over an hour.”

“Oh. I thought you were asleep.”

“Demons don’t sleep dumbass.”

“Right.”

Sam looks down at his feet, studiously avoiding her eyes. Ruby edges forward, crowding into his space, he feels suffocated. He wants desperately to push her away, but that didn’t work before, why would it now?

She brings a hand upto his check and cups it gently, pad of her thumb splaying out possessively across his zygomatic. Sam shudders. He's not sure if it's in disgust or pleasure. Ruby tilts his face so he’s forced to lock his eyes directly onto her’s.

“Do you trust me?”

“What?”

She brings her lips up to ghost across his, but he turns his head at the last second. She presses them to his jawline instead, over one of the bite marks, eliciting another shudder.

“Do you trust me Sam?”

“Do I….?” Sam meets her eyes again, “…how can I Ruby…you’re….”

“A demon? I kinda noticed.” Her hand drifts down to his shoulder and over his back. “I saved you Sam. Remember. And if I’d wanted to kill you, I had you right there in that bed. Naked. Vulnerable.” She rakes her eyes across his torso and back up to meet his own. “Like right now in fact. I haven’t. I won’t. I want to help you. I’m all you’ve got. Please Sam, let me help you…” Her other hand reaches up to brush the hair the had stuck to Sam’s face back, tucking it softly behind his ear. “Do you trust me?”

Sam swallows.

“Yes.” He looks down at his feet again. “Yes I trust you.”

“Good.”

Ruby reaches down for something on the shower floor behind her. Sam tries to avert his eyes from the arch of her back as she does so, but finds himself riveted to the spot. She straightens back up, and Sam catches the quick flash of silver, grasping hold with lightening speed of the slender wrist of the hand holding the blade.

“What the hell!”

“It’s not for you dumbo. I thought we’d already established that?”

Raising her free arm and wriggling the other until Sam’s grip loosens enough for her to slip it free, Ruby draws the blade across the flesh of her meatsuit, a line of scarlet beading just below the elbow. She looks back up at Sam, expectant.

“I want to you taste it.”

Sam stands stock still, his stomach turns over again at the thought and he feels the urge to run as far as he can, but he’s glued in place and she’s subtly blocking the escape with her frame.

“You’ve got to be kidding me?!” He can feel himself shaking. “Do you even understand what you’re asking…what….what he…what he.. did to me….?”

“Azazel poisoned you.”

Sam looks up in shocked surprise. He’d never told anybody. Not..not even Dean.

“He forced his blood on you. I’m offering it. Yellow eyes didn’t give you a choice, this is a choice Sam. You can choose to be strong. Beat them at their own game.” She inches closer again. “Lilith won’t be expecting it, none of them will. You can turn this curse on it’s head.” Her free hand buries itself in his hair, drawing his head forwards, like a puppet or a rag doll. Her lips press to the shell of his ear. “Make something good out of it.”

“I could do it? I could save them, save the host? I wouldn’t have to use the knife?”

She nips lightly at the lobe of his ear, and there’s that uneasy shiver again. “You could save everyone Sam, the hosts, victims. Dean. And you’ll get your revenge.” Her fingernails dip sharply into his scalp and she tugs at the roots of his hair. “Lilith will pay." She's almost growling now, "we’ll make sure of that Sam.”

His lips meet hers in a bruising kiss, to match the ones of the previous night. Her hand tightens in his hair and Ruby drags his mouth away from her’s and down toward the blood seeping from her arm.

The stench of sulphur is overwhelming this close and Sam almost turns his head again, he can feel the black, inky fingermarks creeping back over his skin, but Ruby’s grip in his hair is vice like now and he’s already made his choice, he can’t turn back now.

The first taste has him fighting the impulse to vomit. There’s all the usual tastes of blood (he’s experienced far too much of his own dripping into his mouth from gashes to the face over the years not to know), but there is that deep undercurrent of rotten eggs and it’s somehow thicker, more oily. Ruby’s teeth scrape down his neck and he finds himself sufficiently distracted from the taste. His own hand coming up to scoot along her back and threading his fingers up through her hair, their bodies press close and hot under the stream of icy cold water still pouring over their heads. He pulls back from her arm, looking up at her, with wide, lost eyes, seeking reassurance. Ruby nods and kisses the blood from his lips, the blood on her arm now mingling with the water and forming a pale red pool at their feet.

Shutting off the tap behind them, Ruby grabs Sam’s hand and pulls him roughly back towards the bed.

“Just a little more Sam.” she flexes her fingers, causing fresh blood to bead at the surface of the cut, “and then we’ll get to work.”


End file.
